


sunlight, kiss me awake.

by theadamantdaughter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Fluffy Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shance Cafe Valentine's Exchange, Somnophilia, shance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: Shiro explores new methods of waking Lance in the morning. For Shance Cafe's NSFW Valentine's Day Exchange.





	sunlight, kiss me awake.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Hannah! I loved the prompt list you sent me. The one that caught my eye (and gave me something new to try) was somnophilia. Per usual, I can’t help but inject everything Shiro and Lance do with feelings. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: As with anything I write, all acts are consensual and both parties are of age.

Shiro chases a slant of light across Lance’s back, connects the golden streak to every freckle and mole that he can before meeting the white sheets bunched at his waist. His fingers wander from hip to hip, feather lightly over the faint bruises left behind, fan out on Lance’s ribs as Shiro presses his face into the back of his neck.

He inhales, sighs into Lance’s hair, resumes his wandering path from freckle to freckle.

Goosebumps follow Shiro’s fingertips to Lance’s shoulder, reach the swoop of his clavicle and fan out, rising rapidly across smooth, brown skin. He smiles, repeats the motion, drawing circles and stars and spirals from shoulder blade to spine to shoulder blade. The goosebumps come and go and Lance doesn’t stir except to groan softly in his sleep.

Morning is always Shiro’s favorite. The early morning, before the world stirs from its rest; before any stress settles within him.

Three years ago, when they first moved in together, Lance had chosen this room to be their master suite. It isn’t as big as the true master, doesn’t have the fancy ensuite or walk-in closet, but it has the bay windows, the reading seat, the brilliant, flooding light no matter the time of day.

In the mornings, Shiro is gradually coaxed awake, awake enough that the remnants of dark memories have all but faded away.

He’s left on the edge of dreams, reflecting quietly on the present things that make him happy. His breathing calms with the steadily increasing light. His heart swells with warm at the comfort of Lance snoozing soundly. The shadows are chased further by the pink and yellow sunrise, cast to the corners that they’ll haunt ‘til the sun creeps to the very edge of the bedroom, and he’s left with this: simple, peaceful solitude, his sleeping lover a constant weight at his side.

And, to top it all, Shiro is always the first awake.

Call it an internal clock, call it years of military training and countless mornings of being up before the sun… Call it the perfect opportunity to roll onto his side, nuzzle a little closer, kiss every bump of Lance’s spine.

He pauses at the end of the Lance’s ribcage, assess the new rhythm to his breath. A steady pull in, broken slightly by a hum. He’s right on the edge, and Shiro runs his mouth back up to Lance’s neck, breath hot on his skin to soothe him.

An exhale follows, slow and deep.

Beautiful.

They’ve talked about this. A few times, though briefly. Lance is occasionally shy when it comes to his desires; he hates asking for something or seeming needy. The little ticks and unspoken kinks centering around Shiro— well, he never has a problem blurting those, acting on those, giving repeat performances of those.

But sharing his own?

He slips his knee between Lance’s legs, nudges them further apart with painstaking patience. Shiro smiles inwardly, leaves a wet kiss at the curve of his neck, another beneath his ear. His skin is so sweet there, whether awake or asleep. He smells like the sea, like a humid breeze; tastes faintly like sweat, entirely like sex.

Catching a moan in his throat before it leaves him, Shiro bites his lip and presses his hips flush to the side of Lance’s ass.

God _. Fuck._

They’ve talked about this. And he’s thought about it, decided this is the perfect opportunity to take advantage, to give Lance exactly what he wants, treat Lance just how he likes.

Shiro dips his hand beneath the sheets, _tap, tap, taps_ across Lance’s lower back, grabs his pert little ass, then squeezes roughly. His fingernails scrape lower, down Lance’s thigh and up again. He hums over soft skin, scratches at sparse hairs on the insides of Lance’s thighs, pushes them apart until he finds the space he needs.

His lips graze Lance’s shoulder again.

He traces a single finger over the cleft of Lance’s ass, repeats the motion with more brazen intent. The way Lance is laying, legs spread and stretched out on his belly, Shiro can cup his balls, massage them and bite Lance’s neck— that always makes him beg. He tickles over them, drags his fingers up to the top of Lance’s ass, slips between Lance’s cheeks to ghost over his hole.

Over and over again. He listens for any change in breathing, any shift that might indicate Lance is awake. Nothing comes— he’s the deepest sleeper Shiro has ever known, and right now? It turns him on wildly.

He can do so much, whatever he wants, fuck Lance as slow or as quick as he likes.  

Shiro catches his lip as he lifts up on his elbow. He leaves Lance’s ass alone for the moment, pushes blankets down their entwined legs and admires the long, lean body so hot and tight against his.

His waist is tapered, muscles stitched together over his ribs, broadening between his shoulders and upper back. He’s a swimmer. It shows. His hips are narrow, his cheeks are firm. His legs are solid and strong and his cock is twitching between them. Hard, heavy, and thick; it’s hot between his legs, leaking precum on to the sheets when Shiro traces a vein to the tip.

He’s free to do anything. _Everything_.

An involuntary shiver runs through him, through Lance— Shiro’s cock twitches against Lance’s hip. He circles Lance’s hole slowly, pulls away to lick his finger then pushes in up to the first knuckle.

He’s still slick from last night. Slick with cum and leftover lube. And blazing hot.

All Shiro can think about is that heat around his cock.

But he prides himself on his patience, holds himself to the higher standard of making Lance beg, writhe, pulling him apart into a thousand pieces before Shiro so much as thinks about fucking him. What is it about Lance being asleep that makes him so damn needy?

He lets his lip go free, calms himself with a deep breath through his nose.

Fingers first. To stretch him and edge him. Pull an orgasm out of him, then flip him over and fill him properly. He can watch those pretty blue eyes flutter open as Lance realizes what’s happening.

Resenting that he has to leave Lance’s side for even a second, Shiro rolls in the opposite direction and fumbles through his nightstand. He’s quiet, but quick, finding the bottle of lube that he wants before depositing a generous bit on his hand.

Shiro rubs his fingers together to warm it up, hooks his leg over one of Lance’s and lays back down, drags his foot down Lance’s calf. Shit, if he could stay here like this all day— a little hide away in bed, the perfect beginning, middle, and end to Valentine’s Day. He closes his eyes, deposits his unspoken wishes in kisses on Lance’s back, draws featherlight shapes up his thighs, his dick, his ass.

A finger slips in easily. Right up to the heel of his palm.

Shiro buries a groan in the pillows. Shudders. He curls his finger and Lance shudders too.

He does it again, works slowly and methodically. There’s a rhythm Lance likes. Loves, actually. That’s the more appropriate descriptor. If he were awake, he’d be rolling his hips back, meeting every flick of Shiro’s hand with pleas for faster, harder.

The answer Lance receives is a second finger. And, at first, Shiro teases. Takes the one out and plays with his hole. Moves his touch completely, focusing attention on his cock. He rubs down to the tip, collects a dew drop of cum and smears it up the shaft.

Lance’s cock twitches. His breath catches on a dreamy moan.

A deep-seated ache settles in Shiro’s balls.

He laments pulling away for more lube, like his body is as eager to touch as Lance’s is to be touched. Shiro feels Lance beginning to react, sees the beginnings of wakefulness settling in to his limbs. He twitches more, sighs before adjusting beneath the weight of Shiro’s leg.

One knuckle, two— Lance responds with a broken hum and Shiro fingers into him with cruel ease, almost lackadaisical until his fingers are buried in his ass.

“Morning, baby.”

Lance stretches like a cat at the greeting, hands grabbing at the flat sheet, back curling as he flexes.

“Takashi.”

A pinpointed weakness — Even groggy, Lance knows exactly how to hurt him.

Shiro doesn’t cave. “Don’t come.”

Frustration flicks across Lance’s face. Even at this angle, with Lance blinking slowly at the wall opposite him and Shiro propped up on an elbow as he fingers him, Shiro sees it. The slight pinch in his brow, the pout that downturns his lips.

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Shiro stops, fingers stilling in Lance’s ass. “Still not fair?”

He nips Lance’s ear, then rubs right over Lance’s prostate. That earns him full alertness, a keening moan filling the air. Shiro chases the sound down his neck, covers the quickening pulse with his lips and laps at the faintest taste of sweat on Lance’s skin.

Lance frees a hand from the sheets, finds the right angle to grab at Shiro’s hair. “Please.” He ruts into the bed as he says it, does it again like that will help his predicament. “Takashi, you can’t—”

“Don’t come.” He’s just as firm. “I mean it.”

“ _I_ mean it; you’re mean.”

Except he’s purring. He’s tugging at the white bangs that hang in Shiro’s face, meeting every pump of Shiro’s fingers with enthusiastic pleas. He huffs into his pillow, keens as his body trembles, gathers just enough strength and focus to turn his head when Shiro slows for a moment.

Face to face, nose to nose, Shiro leaves soft kisses down his nose, avoids a real kiss until Lance begs. He sighs quiet praise into Shiro’s mouth, every exhalation, every breath hot and wet and wanting across Shiro’s tongue.

“Please,” he manages, vibrating with tension, with the edged high. “I need to come, Shiro.”

“I’ll let you, babe. But not yet.”

Shiro skims up Lance’s jaw, nibbles his ear, sucks at the rapid pulse in Lance’s neck. He tastes sweat, desperation; feels every tremor that races through Lance as he fights and fights and fights to obey.

“—Takashi.”

He tightens up around Shiro’s fingers, back straining, hips angled off the bed and legs widening. His cock is flushed a beautiful, angry red, leaving slick on the sheets. His skin takes on a copper tone, pink spreading down his back to his waist.

“So pretty, baby.” Shiro slows down immensely, makes every pump precise, intense. Then, all at once, he fucks his fingers deeper, finds that sweet, sweet spot that puts Lance on the verge of screaming. “You’re so good for me.”

And Lance comes, comes dry with a broken up cry, balls tightening up and cock jumping with the violent high. He shakes in Shiro’s embrace, lips open and pouring moans in to Shiro’s mouth. Shiro drinks in every single one, swallows them down and closes his eyes.

It’s always such a beautiful moment, knowing Lance trusts him this much, falls apart this easily, will obey him even through a climax that mixes pain with pleasure and turns him into a spiraling mess.

Lance catches his breath with a gasp, lowers his hips to grind on the sheets. “Fuck me, Takashi.”

“Should I?”

He pulls his fingers from Lance’s ass with slow care. Lance hisses at the sensitivity, at the loss, but Shiro makes up for it. His feels his way to Lance’s waist, helps him roll to his side and hooks Lance’s leg over his hips.

Sleepy blue eyes look up at him, swimming in heat.

Smiling back, Shiro pecks his lips in rapid succession, fumbles blindly for the lube and slicks three fingers this time.

“I’m not done prepping you,” he murmurs, more focused on the shaky moan coming from Lance as Shiro fills him again.

Lance clings to him, nails digging to his chest. “I’m ready, Shiro. You know I am.”

“You’re greedy, is what you are.”

“You’re not?” He drags his hand down Shiro’s body, lingers on the muscles cutting his hips. “You woke me up for this.”

His eyes are half-lidded and wicked, a dazed smile on his lips. His touch moves lower, dances around with feigned obliviousness. _Finally._ Finally, Lance wraps his fingers tight around Shiro’s cock, pumps him with painful intensity. Shiro practically melts into the mattress, suddenly a puddle of want.

“Finish it, Takashi.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; never does. They reach the point of breaking eventually, too pent up and overheated to do anything but tangle up and chase that rush. And, he knows Lance is hurting.

When Shiro pulls away, searching within the sheets for the lube, and Lance rolls onto his back with a shit-eating grin on his face, he doesn’t let that grin trick him. He can see the ache, see the agony in how Lance’s legs fall open and shake. His body jolts with small tremors. His cock — twitching and pumping clear fluid onto his stomach — flushes near-purple around the head. Coming like that, without the release, makes him sensitive, makes him whiny and so wonderfully submissive.

Even awake, with Lance like this, he can do anything. _Everything_.

And what he wants? Is something soft, sweet, a touch more teasing until Lance is bratty and begging for him. Shiro finds the lube, but he merely holds on to it. He stalls by laying between Lance’s legs, kissing his left knee, then his right, licking his way up the inside of his thigh.

“No—” Lance gasps, fisting Shiro’s bangs anew.

His back curves off the bed, a desperate look contorting his face. Shiro cups Lance’s ass, tilts his hips towards the ceiling, licks up his ass to his balls then blows cool air over the wet path.

He nearly winces at the grip Lance has in his hair. “—not fair.”

“Not fair?”

“I want you. Shiro, I—”

Shiro ignores him, peppers the junction of his leg and hip with kisses and listens to the protest die in his throat. “I want to taste you,” he hums, ducking his head and lapping at his hole again. “Just for a little while.” He makes a happy sound in his throat, a pleased groan that tickles his lips. He exhales in a rush and looks up over Lance’s body.

So many quick breaths expand his chest. So many dips and grooves and planes of smooth, brown skin spread out above him. Sweat beads along his collarbones; there’s a welt blooming along his throat that is absolutely delicious. And those eyes, so vibrantly blue—

Lance pins him with a strung-out, hungry glare.

“What do I have to do...” He bucks his hips erratically, scrapes his nails from his sternum to his cock, pressing his thumb to the slit. “...to make you fuck me?”

He pumps himself once, collects the cum that leaks slowly, brings the pad of his thumb to his mouth. All the while, Shiro watches in a state of awe. All the while, he tumbles over the same edge as Lance, cock aching between his body and the sheets. His mouth waters, almost envious for the salty-sweet flavor Lance mewls around.

“That,” Shiro answers at last. “Exactly that.”

Gathering himself on his knees, Shiro jerks Lance down the bed to him, earns an excited, giggly squeal with the sudden movement. He grins sinfully; Lance beams like he’s won something— Shiro’s sanity, probably.

He’s losing it quickly, having Lance’s legs draped over his thighs with just enough distance between them to properly slick his cock and Lance’s ass. He’s falling to pieces, watching Lance stroke his cock and wishing it were his doing, hearing Lance pant his name before Shiro’s even inside him.

He doesn’t stall a second longer.

Satisfied that Lance can take him, Shiro prods Lance’s hole with the tip, then gradually fills him.

“S-shit.” Lance grabs at the sheets, wholly blissed out at the sensation. “Keep going. Keep—”

Shiro bottoms out, hips flush with Lance’s ass, all-consuming heat surrounding him. “Fuck.” He curses, tries to steady himself on his haunches, but ends up falling forward and bracing himself above Lance.

“Good, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“You could make me. Baby.” He flutters his lashes, wiggles within Shiro’s embrace. Every minute movement create a shock wake, makes him shudder and moan. And Lance, naturally, eats it up. “Better yet, get me as loud as you are.”

He scoffs, smooths a hand along Lance’s side to wrap his legs snug around his waist. “Mouthy.”

“Make me suck you off?”

Shiro shakes his head, rolls his hip in the same motion. Lazy. Languid. He sinks as deep as Lance can take him, pulls out to the tip. A sound of longing and emptiness falls from Lance’s lips.

“Still want my cock in your mouth?”

“N-no. No, T- kashi—”

He slams forward, and Lance grips his biceps, curls into the thrust with a tortured groan. His fingers scrape over Shiro’s shoulders, wrap behind his neck for one, two, _three_ quick snaps, then his nails are leaving red streaks down Shiro’s back.

“K-keep moving,” he chokes, grappling with Shiro’s ass. His body strains, chest taut beneath Shiro’s kisses, neck tense as he fights for friction. “Baby, please. Please, don’t stop.”

It’s a near sob; so broken, so pleading. And that’s the last Shiro teases him.

He braces himself on an arm, pulls back, thrusts forward, finds a quick pattern that sends him over the edge and wraps his hand around Lance’s aching cock.

Because he can’t take the mewl in Lance’s voice; because he loves it. Because he’s done torturing his love; because he’s so close to that high himself. Because he wants to make Lance come, needs to see Lance as his eyes roll back and his mouth opens, is so fucking _hot_ to meet Lance as the pleasure tightens, tightens, tightens—

“O-h, _god._ ”

Shiro stutters.

As he does, Lance digs his nails into his forearms so fiercely it hurts, ruts wildly and without reason, pants Shiro’s name and comes. Beautifully. His skin is glistening and flushed. His eyes are swimming in lust. His abs flex and he stripes Shiro’s chest with pearlescent ribbons, leaves a droplets on his belly when Shiro releases his cock, holds his waist and thrusts hard, fast, losing his pattern.

And then he loses it all.

Like a taut band has snapped. Like a cord has been cut. The tension that consumes him releases in a hot, pumping rush and he buries his cock deep in Lance’s ass, fills him up.

“Look at you. Lovely.”

After an eternity, or a minute, maybe, he feels Lance’s hands on his stomach. His fingers smear the cum, gather it up, then he lifts his fingers to Shiro’s lips.

“Still want a taste, Takashi?”

He smirks, a snort leaving him, but Shiro licks each finger clean with expert care, humming contentedly.

Every movement following is gentle, too; slowly pulling out, easing Lance’s legs together and down. Perhaps he worries too much, but for all Lance fusses about being fussed over, he never complains the next day when his body is left with only the slightest aches and pain.

“Should we clean the rest of me up?” Shiro asks, kneeling beside Lance and massaging the muscles encasing his hips.

“Me too?”

“Of course, love.”

A sleepy, satisfied smile meets him. “My vote is for a bath. And round two. I owe you.”

“Whatever you want.” Careful not to soil the sheets any further, Shiro skirts from the bed and scoops Lance up. “It’s your day.”

Lance giggles happily.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Takashi.”

“ _Mm.”_ He can’t help the kiddish thrill that runs through him when Lance tucks his face in his neck. He leaves warm kisses, a nibble, then a peck. “And, happy love fest to you.”

 


End file.
